Princess Dearest
by Chesiere Cat
Summary: Makishima's question about Touma's long-dead princess leads to...certain results. Hinted Touma/Touma's sister, ?/Touma. Morbid crack. M/M. Some references to Psycho-Pass Zero.


**Title:** Princess Dearest  
**Pairing:** Touma/Touma's sister (if you squint), ?/Touma  
**Rating: **Adult content; NSFW  
**Warning:** M/M, dark fic, disturbing contents, Touma and Makishima's homoness

**Author's Note: **This fic was originally written with an intention to troll certain friends. It contains morbid humor and crack pairing. Readers please proceed with caution.

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He tried, often, to remember her face even if all he could recall was her story. He remembered the place in his little world where she used to be - the crucial role she played. Princess Dearest, he called her, for she was indeed his dearest. But no matter how hard he tried, her face - even as his twin sister - was always a blur.

.

**Princess Dearest**

.

"Do you still remember her?"

"Who?"

"Your princess."

...

He tried, often, to remember her face, and as often, his mind conjured the image of her up in his dreams. 'My prince, my prince,' she called, her sweet voice chiming like silver bells even inside the walls that secluded them from the foreign world outside.

'Mr prince, my prince,' beckoned that one special princess, and she wrapped one arm around him as her other hid a knife. He gazed at her; Princess Dearest, ragged in her torn dress, her face hidden behind the mask of his misty memory. He wanted to ask her 'Princess Dearest, where have you been?', for he had noticed that white substance, slowly drying, clinging to her skin.

.

_Little girls grow up too fast_

_Trying to make the morning last_

.

Princess Dearest, no longer innocent and pure, ever since their birth, they had been put a curse upon. The princess was cursed, her thighs and skirt stained with color white. And he, the Prince, cursed too, his attire would soon turn red…but never red from the princess' blood.

He suffocated her, putting on her the spell of eternal sleep. Princess Dearest, his one and only princess, slept in the fridge like Snow White in her glass coffin.

Yet, as no other prince could ever lift the curse of that forbidden apple, the princess kept calling for the prince turned monster. She kept calling him from behind the wall of her coffin. Like Maid Maleen sealed up behind the rocks of her castle, wishing that she might again see her beloved missing part…

.

_End up living in the past_

_When we were young_

.

For the prince was haunted by the memory of her. And he was cursed forever never to remember her face.

...

He put his cup down. The question made the tea quickly lose its flavor. Steam rose from the porcelain cup, curling languidly in the air about him, carrying with it the deep aroma that usually help one relax. Touma's fingers itched. He gazed steadily at the man who had uttered the question.

"Your query always carries a purposeful intent, Shogo-kun."

He reached for the fork.

"'One's past is what one is. It is the only way by which people should be judged,'" came the albino's smooth voice - ever so dulcet and captivating as its owner could easily become a cynosure wherever his charisma was needed.

His fingers closed in on the metal hilt. If Makishima had taken notice of his little possession, the man made no necessary move.

"That was Oscar Wilde, wasn't it?" He kept his gaze leveled with his interlocutor, the cool metal pressed tight against the very flesh of his palm. "His famous work, The Picture of Dorian Gray always reminds me…of us."

They played the game of mellifluous poison.

Golden eyes gazed intensely at him as one long, tapered finger traced along the edge of the fragile porcelain cup. A smile soon appeared on the white-haired man lips. "You said you had no interest in art, but you are…imaginative with your presentation. Which one of us, in this case, then, should be the artist, I wonder?"

**An artist so infatuated, striving to create his masterpiece.**

"…"

**The man who brought the monster into the world.**

Touma returned the smile…

**Dorian's first kill.**

…And stabbed his fork into the lemon tart.

"…Shogo-kun, we can both be Dorian." He cut the tart neatly into three little pieces. "Sibyl fails because of her love for Dorian." The brunette's smile sweetened as he held one of the pieces he cut to the other man's lips, smearing the creamy filling over them.

Pink tongue slowly darted out, gliding over the lemony tang it left, cleaning those soft lips before they eventually parted, letting himself be fed.

"Sibyl's role…it's tragic, isn't it?" Touma watched Makishima chew, observing that subtle change from his normally indifferent expression. It hadn't taken long for him to notice Shogo-kun's inclination of having a sweet tooth. He pulled back, letting the fork drop harmlessly onto the checkered tablecloth. Black and white like a board of chess.

It also hadn't taken him long to notice the position of the albino's hand before he had retracted his arm. No chess piece eaten.

"Tragic? Maybe…"

**Sibyl failed to notice the ugliness of the picture all the Dorians in this world needed not to hide.**

"But can you blame Dorian for his fascination with Hedonism when humans are prone to fulfilling their desires?"

.

_Little girls grow up too fast_

_Trying to make the morning last_

.

That princess… She had recently been discovered, free at last from her cold, cold coffin. Princess Dearest… She had no name. She had never been registered. Autopsy had revealed her sexually tainted.

"Didn't Rudyard Kipling refer to prostitution as the world's oldest profession?"

There was nothing like that reminder of his first Epiphany.

.

_End up living in the past_

_When we were young_

.

The prince still remembered. He remembered her story. But never…never could he be able to recall her face. She had betrayed him. Not with that little knife she hid. She had betrayed him for rushing back to their ruined castle where the corpse of the witch lay. She had betrayed him, for in her hurry she had forgotten to conceal her dirty secret. The secret of how all those fetching treasures came from.

.

_Never knew how long she'd get_

_Tried to survive without regret_

.

"…You can be quite persistent, Shogo-kun. I don't know whether to classify that as a good or bad habit."

Makishima only smiled as he offered Touma his own tea cup.

"Do you really have to know?"

The serial killer didn't reject the offer. The tea was still warm, and, looking into the cup, he saw his own reflection on the surface of the rusty brown liquid.

"You are not hopeless if you want to remember her. But to remember, or not to remember, that is your own choice."

Touma Kouzaburo laughed. Makishima Shogo had so many unexpected things to offer yet he doubted making him remember Princess Dearest's face was one of them.

.

_Died before her Time and yet_

.

"I wish…I could again see her every day." And then he took a sip, tasting the strangely pleasant tang on his palate as the warmth seeped down his throat. He had expected it to be bitter.

...

Once upon a time, there were a prince and a princess, brought into the world by a wicked witch. The prince and the princess swore to each other an oath…that no matter what happened they would always be together. But not every tale ended with a happy ending. The princess was dead and the prince was left to wander. In a world so foreign to him, they praised him as if he had never known sorrow. His clear hue, his excellent mental health…

To them, he was truly radiant prince among the ruins of civilization.

And so the prince continued to wander, in the darkness where sheep and peasants mistook as glorious daylight. Life was suffering without his counterpart. And no matter how loud Princess Dearest cried; screaming, calling out to him from behind the wall of his damned memories; her precious prince could never perfect the picture of her.

One day, the prince met a divine angel. The white angel favored him and offered to grant him his wishes. Above all his trivial wishes, the prince had one greatest wish. His one strongest desire.

"I wish…I could again see her every day," said the prince. And the angel smiled as he let the prince sip on the sweetest nectar.

The ambrosia that would grant the prince his wish…

...

He woke up, hearing soft murmurs, but somehow he found it too difficult to decipher the meaning. The softness of the material beneath him made him relax. It was strangely easy to relax. His body felt so light as if the weight of the world that always pressed upon him disappear. And clearer than ever he could hear his princess.

'My prince, my prince, we are always together.' It sounded as if she was whispering so close to his ear, her voice melodic. 'My prince, my prince,' she beckoned, pulling him away from his need to slumber. 'Look at me,' she said, 'look at me.'

.

_Little girls grow up too fast_

_Trying to make the morning last_

.

And indeed he opened his eyes and looked. And there she was…his princess. It was unmistakably Princess Dearest in her most beautiful gown. She looked straight back at him. Pretty, pretty princess in red, red dress… He could now see her face as if staring at his own reflection.

.

_End up living in the past_

_When we were young_

.

Then the memories of her flooded into him. His mind reeled back to his anger, to her betrayal, rolling back…to that day…

...

A man entered. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with that familiar scent of visual drug. The man hummed a soft tune - a symphony long forgotten by the present day's passionless era. When he closed the door behind him, the room, surrounded by mirrors, became a labyrinth of endless reflection. He stood deliberately behind the beauty whose chastity was betrayed by the heavy scent of blood.

As expected of Makishima… To always find something that could stir him with ebullience. Like those times hunting sly little fox cubs. Only this…was a different kind of hunting.

Watching his lovely gift fascinated himself with the visual drug's illusion, the man who thirsted his own satisfaction started to undress…

...

He saw her now, Princess Dearest, no longer wearing a torn dress. Instead, she wore beautiful gown the color of blood. He wanted to ask her 'Princess Dearest, where have you been?', for he remembered that white substance, slowly drying, clinging to her skin on that day.

A hand slipped past the gown's slit, caressing his thigh. "Good evening, princess." The man greeted, wrapping his other arm around his waist. Ugly, ugly old man with bulging eyes, touching his princess. The prince felt like gouging those eyes out of their sockets.

'My prince, my prince,' Princess Dearest crooned, 'I have never meant to betray you.'

"Pretty, pretty princess…" The man whispered, planting kisses after kisses on his skin.

_Princess Dearest, is this your memory?_

'My precious prince, I hate it. I hate it. But I did it because of you.'

_Princess Dearest, the man is so ugly._

'I did it…just for you.'

.

_Never knew how long she'd get_

.

He had expected the man's lips to be crude. Yet, oddly, those lips were so soft as if they belonged to a baby. He felt the pretty dress torn, feeling the unexpectedly soft skin against his skin. Oh, he still hated it, he hated it. He knew Princess Dearest hated it. They hated everything despite those touches occasionally caused them to moan…as the unwanted friction aroused their natural desire. Then there was that hard artificial flesh that bestowed upon their shared body authentic pain.

.

_Tried to survive without regret_

.

'My prince! My prince!'

In his mind, he heard her scream. Pain. Pain. Pain. She felt so much pain. Emotional pain that stabbed repeatedly on her heart as he continued to squeeze her throat. Shame. Insult. Filthiness. She had received everything for him.

'My prince! My prince!'

He heard Princess Dearest cry. She hated it. She hated it. And so together, their single hand reached for that one single knife, for it lay conveniently close in their reach…

**Stab.**

They stabbed. Stab. Stab. Stab. They stabbed the man repeatedly. Stabbing him in the chest, forcing the knife to cut a long gash through the man's nipple.

It was stuck.

"That was impressive." The man praised, the knife couldn't get pass where it was stuck. His face didn't show any sign of pain either. Still, he knew better that his drugged princess wouldn't register the fact that he was a cyborg. For even as a cyborg, one's primary desire was still to hard to extinguish. "As a reward, let us feel joy together."

Princess Dearest's scream turned to a silent sob. The prince groaned as he felt pain…more pain. He let go of the useless knife as he tried to gouge…tried to scratch. But the voice that answered was that of the abominable man atop him.

"Tweak my nipples… It will increase the size." And the man's strong hands forced his to obey.

_Princess Dearest, Princess Dearest…_

"Ah! Ah!"

She no longer responded…

"Ahhh…!"

Because the prince's final scream completely drowned out hers.

And, at last, together, they flung into silence.

...

Senguji Toyohisa hummed the tune of Ode to Joy to himself as he exited the room of mirrors. He was tying back his bow tie as he passed a figure sitting on the sofa reading.

"How was he?" The white-haired man put down his book as he regarded the cyborg with an amused smile.

"You picked such a fine specimen, Makishima-kun." The cyborg ran his hand over his chest where he had been stabbed. "What did he tell you about his deepest wish?"

Makishima leaned back in his seat, his smile widening. "He did express his free will to see his princess every day."

.

_Died before her Time and yet_

_Her song is sung everyday_

.

Senguji nodded, utterly satisfied with the answer.

"Well, then," he took out his cheque book, "how much do you want today?"

.

_In another way_

_She lives in each of us who know tomorrow_

_._

**Fin**

_._

**Footnotes:**

[1] Dorian Gray killed the artist who drew his 'special' picture.

[2] Sibyl in this context can be both applied to Sibyl the system and Sibyl Vane, Dorian Gray's first love interest who eventually committed suicide.

[3] The lyrics I used here came from Emilie Autumn's song, Lady Anne.


End file.
